


No Room for Settled Dust

by Razzledazzy



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: (i know he's already an assassin but he's also got some rusty parkour skills in this), Assassin!Shaun, Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, Introspection, M/M, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), Nightmares, Parkour, Shaun Hastings-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 02:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzledazzy/pseuds/Razzledazzy
Summary: Villa Auditore has seen many things come and go. It's no stranger to hosting sleepless nights and wandering lovers, but a home is more than a place to rest.There are many ways to say "I love you."Shaun favours "I'll take watch."





	No Room for Settled Dust

At first, Shaun hadn't noticed anything strange about the change to the supply requisitions list. None of them were getting enough sleep, and Desmond in particular had it rough with all the work he did in the animus. His request for extra coffee when they made their weekly supply run was something they accommodated easily and without thought. 

(After all, there was no shortage of coffee in Italy.)

It didn't occur to Shaun that something was wrong until Desmond convinced Rebecca that they needed energy drinks too.

It was obvious once he thought it through; Desmond wasn’t sleeping well, or at all, most nights.

Once Shaun noticed, he couldn't ignore Desmond's sudden reliance on caffeine to stay awake long enough to complete his time in the machine every day. Something had to give sooner or later, and between their food budget and Desmond's mental state, they didn't have many options.

Putting his foot down proved to be harder than Shaun thought it would be. Desmond was consuming the cans of fizzy acid at an alarming rate, leaving them scattered around the places he frequented in the hideout. Shaun grumbled every time he picked one up and stashed it in the rubbish, but he didn’t say anything because… well, to be honest Desmond looked like shit. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the animus had a toll. He had seen what it did to others that used it. Used it himself, once.

From Shaun’s limited experience with Rebecca’s baby, the animus was like a drug; for a short while you were timeless with infinite possibilities, living out the glory of ages far gone. That high was worth the side effects Shaun’s stint resulted in. In his case, the consequences were limited to mild disorientation when something triggered his ancestor’s memories. They flashed in front of his eyes for a few seconds and then Shaun got on with his life. It was infrequent enough not to matter, because the triggers were few and far between.

Desmond had it so much worse. He was surrounded by, and living in, one of the biggest triggers for Ezio's memories. When he didn’t censor himself, complete sentences of Italian would weave themselves into his conversation inside the villa. It was clear from the language confusion (complete with interspersed Arabic!) that Desmond's side effects reached further than Shaun's had, probably further than the side effects had ever been studied. It was hard to ignore.

Less noticeable was the easy way Desmond fell into the physical cadence of his ancestors. The way he would walk like Altair, hiding his non-existent sword from sight even though no guards were around to spot it. It extended to smaller physical ticks, like Ezio’s tendency to drape himself across every available surface, talking to everyone in a manner that would sometimes shift into casual flirting without Desmond ever realizing it.

Or at least he _thought_ Desmond didn't realize it, Shaun could never tell.     
  
It was frustrating, but Shaun couldn’t blame Desmond for any of it. Given his situation, he did the best he could; taking up a mantle and a life that he abandoned years ago in favour of his own freedom. Freedom no one in their merry band of misfits would have again if they didn't stop Abstergo.

Everyone was tired of hiding in the crumbling, ancient villa. For the first few weeks it had been almost romantic, like a novel set against a gentle Italian summer night- the stars overhead perfectly viewed through the holes in the roof. That was then. Shaun had revised his opinion of the holes in the roof from 'romantic' to 'annoying' the first time it rained.

One of the most wearing aspects of the villa was that none of them had any privacy. Everything echoed around the ruinous walls until it reached someone's ears, and Shaun always found himself listening.

Rebecca cried over her family and her dog, Lucy would get frustrated and punch walls from time to time, and Desmond woke up screaming. 

Sometimes he felt like the sole arbiter of everyone’s mental health, which meant they were all fucked, realistically.

On the nights when he just couldn't hear anymore, he pulled out headphones and spaced out until he felt fifteen again with the world at his fingertips and a head stuffed full of conspiracy theories, before he found out those things were real and dangerous.

Tonight was one of those nights where he couldn't listen anymore. 

Under his breath he began to mouth the words to the song that drowned out all ambient noise.

_I've met someone that makes me feel seasick_

_Oh what a skill to have_

_Oh what a skill to have_

_So many skills that make’em distinctive_

_But they're not mine to have_

_No they're not mine_

He refused to think of who those lyrics reminded him and changed the song, flipping through the tracks without settling on anything. After exhausting his shuffled playlist, he pulled himself to his feet and stretched his legs. If he couldn't decide on anything to listen to that would drown his brain in basslines, then he was left with one other avenue of distraction.

The worn, black leather jacket was where he'd left it near his computer. He shrugged it on, pulling the grey hood over his distinctive hair. For a second he wished for a mirror large enough to see himself. After so much time on the run, he might actually look the part of an Assassin now. Too bad their only hidden blade was in Desmond's possession.

Shaun walked out of his makeshift room and ghosted his way through the empty halls. He’d had this jacket since he became an Assassin; it really hadn’t been that long ago, but it had been through a lot and it showed.

They'd all been through a lot.

Unbidden, Shaun's thoughts turned back to Desmond again. His nightmares had always been present, but at the beginning they were no worse than the rest of the team's. They all had the standard nightmares that people had when life wasn’t kind to them. It was a side effect of the job. Sometimes they would talk about them, usually in passing.

Shaun’s were usually about what would have happened if Rebecca hadn’t rescued him; he brought it up to her whenever he had one. She'd laugh at him, call him an idiot and chat with him until the feeling passed. To Shaun's knowledge (which he rather liked to think was extensive, when it came to his team), Desmond had never spoken with any of them about his nightmares. 

Lost in his thoughts, Shaun made it onto the streets. The night air was cool, but it wouldn’t last for long, it was already nearly morning. Not that the team would be waking up anytime soon, a lovely perk of working through the night and hiding during the day was that you could sleep until evening if you didn’t have guard duty.

Shaun however seemed to find himself with an unfair excess of guard duty in the past week. Another reason he should be back in bed sleeping instead of wandering around during the one night this week that Rebecca had watch.

Too stubborn to turn back, Shaun made a running start at a nearby house, jumping up and letting his fingers curl around a fuse box. Kicking off from the wall, he got enough height to reach an old pipe gutter, pulling himself up the side of the wall, handhold by handhold. He wasn’t an Assassin for nothing, though he rarely got a chance to practice. He didn’t like to do these things when others could watch.

The pipe took Shaun right to the roof, a homely place with a few chairs crowded around a card table. More importantly, the roof easy access to the next building.

He lost himself in navigating the city by rooftop, catching himself clumsily when his shoes slipped against the hand formed terracotta tiles they weren’t made to traverse.

The bell tower was his destination, he’d only been to it once before when he and Rebecca scouted out the town for Templar influence before moving base to their last Italian sanctuary. Shaun knew the climb up wasn’t the hard part, it was the climb down that could kill you. Rarely was there anything laying around that Shaun felt comfortable risking his life trying to dive into.

_Guess that’s why it's called a leap of faith._

The tower had loose brick, easy enough to dig his fingers into as he kicked off the side to scale up the tower. He paused halfway into his ascent, holding onto a metal piece that could have been a flagpole of some sort, or a piece of decoration, he wasn't sure.

He looked back at the villa, for a second Shaun thought he saw a flash of something in the upper levels. Shaking his head, Shaun focused on finishing the climb. He pulled himself up the final handholds to the top of the tower. Well, as close to the top as he was getting. Someone else could risk their neck climbing up wrought iron spires and lightning rods that graced the top.

He drew up a knee and braced himself on the ledge, taking a deep breath as he felt the ache in his muscles and his fingertips. He was out of practice.

Pre-dawn light lifted the stain of the sky, painting the fields with broad brushstrokes that every Italian landscape painting tried, and failed, to capture.

It was a beautiful sunrise, but it was just shy of being stunning enough to keep his mind in order. His thoughts turned again to Desmond: he couldn't get the man out of his mind.

They were pushing him too hard, trying to get everything done in a month was reckless. They were on a time crunch, sure... but Shaun shuddered to think of what the ultimate cost would end up being. 

He had a bad feeling about it.

The sun cleared the surrounding hills, bringing with it the sharp orange tones of early morning.

It was time to going if he didn’t want to be seen.

He got to his feet, feeling the teeter of vertigo as he gazed across the orange rooftops of the town. There was a cry of a bird, and Shaun's eyes scanned the ground for a place to land before disregarding the idea. This wasn't the Renaissance, the closet thing to a cart full of hay and flowers he could jump into was probably some kind of bin lorry. 

 _That_ wasn't happening. 

Getting down from the bell tower was an exercise in holding onto cold bricks with numb fingers, dropping a meter at a time as he clung to the cover of the bleeding shadows of morning. It was the only way to get down without being seen, because even if he was willing to do it, taking a swan dive into a dustcart wasn’t subtle.

His feet touched the ground again, and Shaun shook out his hands. There would be scrapes and his bones were chilled, but he felt better for the trip. Part of him felt better just because this proved, at least in his mind, that if Desmond needed to go out on missions then he could be there to watch his back. 

The early risers unique to rural towns had already begun to move about the city- Shopkeepers and farmers alike cluttered the yawning streets. Shaun purchased some supplies from a farmer making a delivery to a family owned restaurant on his way back to the sanctuary. His passable Italian was good enough to purchase things right from the truck. Buy local, buy organic, buy untraceable via electronic paper trails. Shaun snorted at his own joke.

He walked back into the villa with his gains, right into a very exhausted looking Ezio.

Well, Desmond, but Shaun was pretty sure it was Ezio.

“You look like shit,” Shaun slipped him in Italian. It would have sounded better in French. Alas, Ezio's French was limited mostly to illicit phrases.

Desmond growled back something in Italian that sounded like 'go charge a bull'.

“You should be sleeping,” Shaun continued, putting the vegetables into their only working ice box. He was too tired to make anything with the supplies right now.

Ezio- no, Desmond shrugged. “I’m on watch,” Desmond was still speaking in Italian, but Shaun didn't recognize the tone as Ezio’s. Maybe Desmond was just too tired to check what language he was speaking.

Shaun leaned against the ice box. “I thought Rebecca was on watch.” He wouldn’t have gone out if he knew there’d be a chance of being seen by anyone other than her, after all, she taught him pretty much everything he knew.

“She woke me up and said she had to pass out.”

That dirty lying-

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Desmond yawned, glancing over the monitors in lieu of actually explaining what the bloody hell he was talking about.

Good, that gave him an out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about," Shaun sniffed, going for extra haughty and British.

Desmond's jaw cracked in another yawn. “Sure Hastings, keep your ninja assassin skills a secret and play the part of the history buff that is inexplicably vital to the team,” Desmond quirked an eyebrow at him. He’d switched back over to English, Shaun wondered if he knew.

“They’re not secret, they’re just not polished. I hate _practicing_ things where others can see.” Shaun said ‘practicing’ like it was an affront to his person.

“Still, you could have said something.”

“When would have been the appropriate time to bring that up? I figured ‘Rebecca and I are Assassins’ was clue enough.”

Desmond closed his mouth. “Fair point. I guess I just assumed she was the technical branch and you were… you.”

Shaun rolled his eyes. If he wasn’t exhausted, he’d probably muster the energy to be indignant.

He shrugged instead, turning to leave.

“Hey, Shaun?”

The tone stopped him, more than the words. He looked back.

“Why is it you’re the only one who never tries to get me to talk about my nightmares?”

Shaun shrugged. “They’re none of my business. You don’t ask about mine. If you wanted to talk about them, I would listen.”

“You never listen.”

“Tsk, I’m always listening. That’s why we’re all still here.” Shaun shot him a cocky look. Rebecca made their equipment, hacked into the things they needed, but he was the one to sort through all of it and make sense of the landslide of information they were bombarded with every day. It was the price of staying one step ahead, and he was _good_ at it.

It wasn’t as glamorous as revisiting the past personally, but that wasn’t who he was. That was Desmond’s job, one that he was still visibly struggling with. 

So what if Shaun couldn't put his foot down about the caffeine? Or directly confront Desmond about his problems? Or do any of the animus work for him? Or solve the side effects of animus overuse? He could still help in his own way.

He walked back to Desmond, sitting down so that their shoulders pressed together. When Desmond didn't say anything, Shaun elbowed him lightly. 

“Desmond.”

“Mmm?”

“Go back to sleep, I’ll take watch.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is, I started writing this drabble in 2013 and it's certainly... a thing.
> 
> Check out my profile for links you can find me at.


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